


Taking the Mark

by astrothsknot



Series: By My Lady's Command [1]
Category: By My Lady's Command, Original Work
Genre: Blood Play, Branding, Defiance, F/M, Hand Jobs, Harem, M/M, Male Concubines, Ownership Marking, Power Dynamics, Ritual Public Sex, Ritual Sex, Sexual Slavery, Sometimes I worry about myself, Sorry Not Sorry, Space Fantasy Setting, Vaginal Fingering, found this on my computer and I quite like it, tattooes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 16:18:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrothsknot/pseuds/astrothsknot
Summary: A new Mark joins the Harem





	Taking the Mark

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as an experiment. It grew legs and ran.

Title: Taking the Mark  
Author: astrothsknot  
Fandom: By My Lady’s Command  
Rating: NC17 for Slash, Het and BDSM  
Disclaimer: Mine. All mine.  
I wrote this years ago to see if I could write short stories again. And see if I could write porn. Don’t worry, I got better.

Tormod hadn’t seen his Lady since she’d ordered his marking. She’d watched as he’d been strapped into the frame. Wrists and ankles shackled. It was the same position they had all been forced into, when they had Taken the Mark that set them apart from other men.

Tormod had taken the Mark with pride, as would any man so offered. He knew what they called him, and his Brothers behind his back. It was sheer envy. There was not a man amongst them who would not have traded his life for the same privilege.

And he’d been chosen for the Blood Tattoo. The Mark of the chosen few. He’d never be sold, instead would attend the inner circle, and partake of the knowledge therein. A measure of her blood would be drawn from her body, mixed with the pigments to be used in the Tattoo, then he’d walked up to the frame, and asked those who would now be his Brothers to set his soul free in Her Service and Her Protection. They did so, they had used those very same words when they had Taken.

He’d felt him self bound into the frame, immobile. There was a curious lightness in his heart, that came from the removal of all burdens. His burdens would be shouldered by his Lady, and he would lighten her load by his very existence. He had the better deal by far.

“You do this willingly?” She asked him.

“I do.”

“You will be allowed no analgesia for the ordeal that you will suffer, as my service is hard and dangerous. The Service of a Lady has always been so. Bear it well.”

“I shall be as strong as the Oak and as cling as the Ivy.”

His Brothers burned his robes in front of him, he had left that life. He came to his new life naked, the firelight dancing along his sinewy arms, glinting off his chest. His brothers were naked around him, and their pricks were firm, rearing up against their stomachs.

Only some of his Brothers were allowed to approach the frame, but Lady Araya’s entire harem was present. She’d been known to have had around 60 at one point, but she’d edited this down to around 45, at present. Only half of these men were used by her, for her pleasure. The rest she’d inherited from her grandmother, and were more like father figures to her, though none were related to her. It was of no great import. They had kept their vow, and she would keep hers. They were still her Concubines, Men with her Mark.

Lady Araya’s Head Concubine, Her Consort, and her 6 other Blood Mark’d Concubines surrounded him, each one taking a wrist or ankle, and clutching tight. It was symbolic more than anything. Tormod couldn’t move, even if the Hounds of Hell had erupted from the flames in front of him.

The Head Concubine, Peter, was a man in his fifties, who had yet to accede to the ravages of time. The only clue to his years were the lines around his eyes, and the sad wisdom in them. He was a man who had seen many things, perhaps too much. He had some of that wisdom to pass to Tormod now. “Hold your breath against the short pain, lad, and exhale against the long pains. She likes you to yell and curse the pain, but shed no tears, or she’ll kill you. She needs men, not boys. Look her in the eyes as much as possible. It’s defiance that keeps us alive, keeps us sharp, keeps us hard, and that’s why we were chosen.”

Tormod nodded, took a deep breath. His eyes were on the fire, where the outline brand was heating. Two of the lower concubines were furiously working enormous bellows. The fire was so oxygenated, it was pink.

The Consort, Dominic, looked to Peter, who nodded. The outline brand was lifted quickly from the fire and pressed into the middle of Tormod’s chest, so the better to emphasise the musculature. 

The flesh sizzled, and the smell of burning pork wafted around the room. Tormod screamed with the agony, a rich, throaty howl, prick standing on end, head thrown back. It seemed to carry on forever, filling every part of his being, bursting out of his skin, and flowing around the room. He felt like his soul was carried with it.

Adrenaline made his acutely aware of his body and surroundings, and he felt the head of his prick nudge his belly. The emissions from the Cyclops eye were glittering in the firelight.

He met the gaze of Lady Araya, felt a jolt as he realised that she was as aroused as any whore by the spectacle in front of her. “Peter,” she commanded. “Bring me a taste of his pain.”

“Yes, My Lady,” replied Peter, delicately dipping his forefinger in the silvery little tear. He carried it over to Lady Araya, who opened her mouth to receive it. Peter held his finger in her mouth, while she sucked out every last precious drop of liquid, running her tongue gently up and around the sensitive digit. Peter began to tremble ever so slightly, but kept his composure admirably, as befitted his esteemed status. One did not lose control in front of the lower orders. His chance would come later when this woman had requested his presence above that of her Consort.

He stood to the side so that Lady Araya could meet the Tormod’s angry eyes. “Defiance keeps us strong, lad. It’s why we were chosen.” 

“Continue with his marking,” she ordered coolly. The brand was removed from his chest, and cast back into the fire. The sweat ran down Tormod’s skin, around his nipples, down the ridges of his stomach to his thighs. He was panting heavily. One of the other Concubines slid his hand down Tormod’s skin, so slowly, gathering sweat that he massaged into Tormod’s hard shaft, cupping the tethered man’s balls. “Firm, my Lady,” commented the concubine. “He wants to come for you, and will fill you well.”

Tormod’s eyes closed against the man’s touch, he turned his head away. This concubine had bleached hair, that gleamed in the firelight. From somewhere, Tormod had him marked out as one of the most dangerous men in the Empire. He was reputed have killed the two previous consorts, had made another unsuccessful attempt on Dominic, the current consort. He was also supposed to have fathered one of Lady Araya’s sons. That was no mean feat. Lorcan was one to be wary of.

Peter took his finger from her mouth, and walked over to a table that the lower concubines had placed next to Tormod. On it was a mortar and pestle, and a block of black pigment had been placed in the middle of it. Dominic took a silver dagger, and held it over His Lady. He cut Lady Araya’s arm, and collected the blood that flowed freely from it, in a crystal decanter.

He walked back to the table, in front of Tormod, raised the decanter above his head. 

“Bid my blood to run,” Lady Araya intoned behind him, “and let us be joined by my life force, bound by it.”

Peter poured half the decanter’s precious load into the pestle, then raised the lip to Tormod’s mouth, and let him take a sip, before it was passed around the other concubines. It tasted metallic, salted, yet curiously sweet, making him feel light-headed.

Peter had begun to grind the blood and pigment together, to form a black paste. He filled a tattooist’s needle with it, then set it to Tormod’s skin. “Long breaths, son, long breaths,” Peter muttered. Lorcan nodded. The blond concubine’s hand had moved to Tormod’s back, a steadying, friendly gesture, but it felt like it was about to burn a hole in his skin. Tormod exhaled, recalling what else he’d been told about the pain. “Go with it,” he seemed to hear. The drone from the needle resonated though his entire being. “Embrace the pain. Accept it, do not fear it.” It was a male voice, soft, yet deep, Lorcan. “Let the pain seek out who you are.”

And how much of a threat you’ll be to me, was unspoken between them, but clear enough in Tormod’s pain heightened awareness. Everything was out of focus, yet strangely sharper. The constant droning pain was like a sea, and Tormod was part of that sea. It pulled him down, and bore him up. It was a perverted meditation.

Quickly the pain began to lessen, to retreat into the background, and he was more aware of the pressure in his chest from the vibrating needle. He could feel the sweat running down his back, each a little stream, feel the scorching air sear his lungs with every tortured breath. Tormod knew that he was running on adrenaline. 

Yet always that burning, steadying hand. He was conscious of his body, in a way that he never had before, the tension in his muscles from being trussed into such an unnatural position for so long - how long was it now?

He was hypersensitive to the presence of the men beside him, and knew them to be as attuned to him as he was to them. As his breathing changed tempo with the pains and sensations that charged through his skin, his flesh, their breathing changed also. 

It was if they were one body.....one mind....in that moment, he understood why they described themselves as a “Brotherhood.”

His being snapped into place beside theirs, everything crystallising into one glorious joy, rampaging through his blood. His eyes came to face her, a new knowledge burning in them, a defiance that he’d never known before glaring out from them. He faced her down, in a way that he never could have imagined previously.

She met his gaze, coolly, though a small smile played around her lips. There wasn’t a concubine in there that didn’t see it, nor wish to cast from her, the haughty manners, casual tortures, all of which were encapsulated in that little twist of the lips. But she liked to keep resentment simmering. 

It made them more far effective the uses she had in mind. 

At a nod from His Lady, Lorcan's hand moved from Tormod’s back, to his balls, kneading them. A dull ache started within them, and the little slit at the head of Tormod’s penis began to leak semen again. Lorcan began to tease it down Tormod’s quivering member, readying him for the next part of his Marking.

The muscles in his thighs and his arse started to twitch. He fought to control it, partly succeeding. “Good lad, “Peter muttered, as he neared the finish of the design on Tormod’s chest. “Enjoy it, but not too much. It’s the only control you’ve got now.”

Over Peter's head, Tormod still met His Lady’s eyes. She could see very well the reactions that he was quelling to meet those eyes, that to him, denial had its’ own sweetness. He wanted very badly to come from Lorcan's ministrations. Firmly, but slowly, they continued. It was clear from the way he was reacting to the manipulations that he would prefer the same treatment for his prick, rather than the light teasing that was its reception. 

Stepping down from her seat, she moved towards the men. Her velvet gown trailed along behind her, as she walked around them for a better view. She motioned to Lorcan to continue, but indicated Dominic to come up behind her, mould himself tightly to her. 

Dominic did as he was ordered, dropping down behind her, slipping a hand under the layers of her gown, rising up to his ordered position, but drawing his hand up her leg as he did so. He pulled her back against him with the free hand, holding her there. There was a quantity of material rucked around his other hand.

Nothing could be seen, but it was clear what task he set himself. His hand moved rhythmically, and Lady Araya allowed herself a small slip of her control, a slight gasp, pressing herself against her Consorts body. In such a charged atmosphere, it was an electric sound.

Every concubine there held their breath, imagining what that hand was doing. Some of the mens’ own fingers twitched, recalling the feel of hot, tight flesh swelling and shuddering to their hands dictations, for that short time, the slaves enslaving the Mistress.

Behind them, two other slaves worked the bellows again, the fire changing in hue from yellow, to peach, back to that neon pink. Tormod saw it, and stared, entranced. Part of him knew why they were raising the temperature of the flames, there was more agony in store for him.

Dominic was still working Lady Araya, his hand moving further under the fabric as he dove deeper into her sex. Dominic was a master at manipulation, of all kinds. Like all of the best concubines, he’d been blessed with both a body, and a brain, as well as the will to use both. He’d fought, fucked and schemed his way up, to become the Consort. Not bad for one who’d started out as a rent boy on the streets. Oddly, he chose to be paired with Lorcan, his nearest rival, and both men preferred it. It was better to keep friends close, and enemies closer. 

Like Lorcan, he was more than a little interested in the newcomer, and how he’d affect the dynamics of the Harem. 

So, it was with great interest that Dominic watched Tormod’s’ reactions to the fires’ heat building back up again to his final marking, noting how the man’s breathing quickened at the sight of the bright glow, and how he still kept a large portion of his attention on events around him, Lorcan's hands feathering his shaft - a good size, he noted, thick girth - Their Lady’s little sighs and shakes, and to Dominic himself, sizing him up.

The Consort’s hand was simultaneously plunging his middle two fingers into her sex, rubbing them around the walls, lightly playing his remaining fingertips along the edge of the swollen inner lips - an exquisite torture, as she preferred firmer handling - but grinding his palm up hard against the whole pulsating area, pre-contractions ripping through it.

A lesser woman would have been close to passing out by now.

A look between Peter, Lorcan and Dominic, and the moment was at hand. Lady Araya’s gown was ripped from her, and she was raised up by them, placed onto Tormod’s trembling dick. Its’ head was just nudging the dripping entrance. The three men supported her between them, and it was they who would control the speed of the coupling.

They let her drop down, Tormod unable to control the shudder that rippled through his body. He felt his Lady’s firm passage enclose him, so hot, and so close to him. His head rolled back as sensation left him weak, floating as much now on pleasure as he had on pain. They were both so close now, he’d never have told the difference. 

Lady Araya turned her head, seeking a mouth to kiss, Lorcan obliged, though the force he used was closer to biting than kissing. Tormod eyed the kiss jealously. It was unnatural to be caught so hotly in another body, yet to have no other access to them.

It was no less erotic though, to watch another kiss such a lover, and despite his best attempts, his control, so hard won over all the sensuality his body had endured, was slipping away from him. His flesh felt like it was melting, sliding from his bones.

They raised her up again, dropping her down. Tormod marvelled. He was packed in as tightly as he had been on the first stroke. Lady Araya’s cunt stretched around him afresh each time the three men put her to him. The pressure on his shaft, the feelings in the skin intensified, radiating out, until it felt as if his whole body was one giant fucking machine. He began to feel a familiar weight in his balls as the desire to come was due to turn that dream to reality.

More slipping, sliding, sheathing, and the weight became an ache, they moved her faster, pushing her down onto Tormod, making certain that the penetration was deep. The head of his penis was hitting her rear wall, sending shockwaves through them both. He was keenly aware, as tortured as his nerve-ending were, of the pre-contractions dancing through her sex, gripping him tighter and tighter, as she was forced to yield him until the next delicious stab.

They were increasing in number, and depth, and every man in that room, not just those holding Lady Araya, and the one upon whom she was impaled, knew that climax was not far away. Her body was strung tight, tension in every line of her body. Her fingernails dug into the shoulders of her bearers, drawing blood, that ran in small rivulets down their backs, and along their arms, outlining the muscular physique she favoured amongst her harem. She wasn’t shaking, as she would do had this been private, but oh, it was so close, so close. It was not lost on the Head Concubine, the Consort, or Lorcan. 

Something deep inside told Tormod to look upon her. As he did so, he saw that Dominic’s fingers had found her clit again, rubbing it, increasing her pleasure, but bringing her orgasm closer. By extension, they also brought his, as he realised that his own release would come as soon as he felt that sweetest of tortures rip through her flesh.

There was a far more chilling understanding. When he came, he knew, that the last part of his Marking would take place. Pain and pleasure used the same neural pathways. Pain and Pleasure were one.

Fuck them!! He’d been picked above all other men, even men who were already served in the harem, and had never been honoured with a Blood Tattoo. There was something about him, defiance, guts, whatever you called it. He’d been picked for more than his body, or his prick or his face. There was something about him, something else.

He was proud to be Marked! 

He looked his Lady in the face, watching the reaction that his body was responsible for, and realised for the first time what power there was in slavery. He was a slave in name, but not by nature. This knowledge brought a new power with it, and he felt it surge through his body. 

With that thought he felt his balls retract upwards, and felt his penis thicken, warmth beginning to flow along it. As the first pulse sent his semen spurting into her cunt, he saw Peter quickly move, grasp the final iron from the almost cerise flames, and push it squarely onto Tormod's chest exactly on the tattoo. 

This was worse than before! The sizzling, the smell, that agony, they were all a hundred times worse!! In extremis his spurts were tripled in power, sending her screaming as her own release came, and she shuddered, the walls of her sex clasped tight around his dick. 

The pain, the pleasure, all clashed together, throwing out a wall of sensation that absorbed every man in the room. Streams of white came from almost every concubine in that room, as they came with the heady atmosphere and the sheer presence of Tormod in all his glory.

This time, Tormod’s throaty roar was one of triumph as he proved that he was worthy of the Mark.

He was the equal of every man there.

They removed Their Lady from him, supported her, as her legs would go from under her if they left her to stand herself. She kissed him for the first time, a sweet kiss. She then withdrew from him, and was placed back on her chair. Tormod stood before them, tethered as before, still hard, eyes glittering in triumph, pride and defiance and sheer pleasure in the moment shining out from him, in every glorious line of his body. 

Lorcan was the first to step up to him, put his hand above the mark, that had now raised lines and ridges defining the wings, body and tail of the Amphiptere Astroth’s Knot, the symbol of Lady Araya’s house. It was six inches round, and positioned between his nipples, as it was on all of them.

Lorcan met Tormod’s’ eyes with a new respect.

“Welcome Brother,” he said.

“Thank you, Brother,” replied Tormod, and anything else was lost in the huge cheer that echoed around the room long after it had ended.


End file.
